It's four o'clock in the morning and only two desk lamps are lit up in the unit. There's an odd silence to the squad room that has nothing to do with the time of day. Despite the activity buzzing on the floor, Fin knows perfectly well why; Elliot and Olivia have been missing for five hours now, despite the efforts made by him and Cragen to search the club and surrounding area. The detective's attached desks sit empty, and have been untouched since the two were last occupying the seats. In fact, the chairs are still swiveled outward from both readily leaping from them when he'd bounded out of the interrogation room with the plans he'd formulated in a matter of minutes.
Finally, a rumor had had validity in it, allowing the unit a way to penetrate the air tight posse that surrounds Paul McKinney. Munch and Fin had stumbled upon this date rape case just last Friday, and want to be the ones to collar the bastard before the FBI has a chance to bully their way into taking lead position of the investigation. The Bureau has struggled for quite some time to take the man down, and now the Special Victims unit is making the right kind of progress.
Well, at least they had been.
And all Fin had needed to do was rough his informant up a little bit.
Fin sees his target as soon as he turns into the Bronx neighborhood. School children roam about as the punk converses with a junkie who looks like he will fall over with a heavy gust of wind. Fin pulls the sedan he is driving to the opposite side of the road about a block away and sits silently behind the wheel with a pair of small black binoculars at his eyes. The kid hasn't made the deal yet, but both Fin and Munch know it will happen in a few short minutes.
This is when they will strike.
His partner is bored and Fin can tell in the way the thin man is slouched in the passenger seat. Munch is not really one who enjoys stakeouts, with the long, often agonizing hours of watching and waiting and then the few seconds of pure adrenaline when the collar is made. Fin feels the familiar wash of excitement of the potential bust and almost misses this aspect of working with the Narcotics division.
"You said Jeremy Vargas has done time. You still think this kid is harmless?" Munch asks as he flips through the day's newspaper.
"Yeah," Fin mumbles, still studying the subjects. "Trust me. The kid talks big, but that's about it."
There. The hand off is quick, nearly imperceptible. Had the binoculars not been in Fin's hand, he probably would have missed it.
"Let's go," he says, and the two spring into action. They thrust open the sedan doors and sprint over to Vargas, withdrawing their weapons before either man has a chance to run. "Don't move!"
The buyer turns anyway, but Munch clenches his gun with both hands, ensuring a precision shot. "I would advise against taking a run for it. You're already in enough trouble as it is." The man sags in defeat, and then moves to face the building next to him with his hands behind his back. "Looks like we've got repeat customers here."
Fin roughly shoves Vargas against the cement structure decorated with gang tags and posters. "Dealing dope within a thousand feet of a school, dirt bag? You didn't learn anything from five years in Attica, did you?"
Vargas groans in misery then bangs his forehead against the wall as his wrists are double-locked together. Munch cuffs the junkie a few feet away and hauls the man toward the car, reciting the Miranda rights and shares a quick glance with his partner. Fin nods, appreciating that Munch knows he wants to speak to Vargas alone since they have a history, and the two come to a silent understanding that Fin has better control over the kid if he doesn't feel ganged up on.
Jeremy Vargas is pleading his case with his cheek pressed up into the cement building, squirming slightly as Fin frisks the kid's baggy jeans and New York Giants jersey. "I swear, man, I didn't know there was a school this close by."
Fin strikes gold in the young man's front pocket and pulls out a wadded up plastic bag containing several smaller baggies with crystal shards inside of them. "Lookie here. Crystal meth, huh?" For effect, he taps the kid's temple with the bag. "Made the upgrade from crank, I take it? You know judges are coming down harder than ever on meth dealers. And you got a hand off going on right down the street from a goddamn school?"
"Come on, Detective Tutuola. I swear I had no idea." Jeremy is trembling, and tears are escaping the kid's eyes. He is truly terrified.
Fin does not let the emotional display get to him even remotely and gives a good shove between the kid's shoulder blades with his right hand "You didn't just see the group of grade schoolers walk by? Quit lyin' outta your sorry ass teeth."
"Please, man, I can't go back to prison. I won't survive in there again. I barely did the last time!"
Fin leans close to his ear. "Maybe you shoulda chose a different line of work, then. I can't unsee what I just saw, Jeremy."
"Then just kill me. Fucking shoot me, please!" Vargas lets out a pitiful sob and tears drip to the ground as he stares at his shoes. He really is pissing down his leg about being locked up again. Fin has to wonder how traumatic doing time was for the young man to have this kind of a reaction.
Now is the best time to manipulate him.
"Then you get to do me a favor, home boy," he growls, digging his grip into Vargas's shirt collar. "Let's take a ride to the station house. And you'll tell me everything you know about Paul McKinney."
Cragen's door opens, and their grizzled captain emerges from his office. The stress has become obvious since the disappearance of his detectives, and if it is any more possible, Fin swears he sees wrinkles set in on top of his wrinkles. Every head turns toward the man and voices stop, with the expectation of any kind of news whether good or bad.
"What's up, Cap?" he asks, and Munch turns his head away from his computer screen to give the older man his complete attention. Everyone waits with an anxious breath.
"Nothing on Elliot and Olivia, sorry guys. But One Police Plaza wants to know about the progress we've made with locating them before we send out an official BOLO, and the Chief of D's and the FBI want an update on the McKinney case. I've got to get down there and smooth things over before they have enough caffeine in them to wake up and realize what's really going on." Cragen shrugs into his suit coat. "Anything on your end?"
Munch throws a pen down onto his desk. "Well, we sent a BOLO out for Lawrence Wilson and McKinney's description but they're about as easy to find as Jimmy Hoffa's unmarked grave. Nothing so far. I did a records and DMV search on the two; naturally, we have a plethora of hits on McKinney, but the kid's record is crystal clear. Never had any police contact at all, not once even in childhood. Never been pulled over. In fact, he's not even old enough to party. He's seventeen years old."
Cragen shakes his head in disbelief. "A seventeen year old kid?" He closes his door softly, clearly thinking about all the outcomes two of his best detectives face and all the questions the SVU will have to answer to if Elliot and Olivia do not return safely. "You know the drill. Let me know the instant anything happens." He pauses. "Keep this as far away from the press as you can. We can't let any word escape this floor. There's still a chance that they're alive and if McKinney gets wind of them being cops…"
"That's if he doesn't know already," Fin mutters darkly.
"Let's not think like that. Just keep searching. And call me if anything comes up."
"Will do."
Fin doesn't even have to try very hard to get Jeremy Vargas to break. He's known the kid for at least a decade when he'd taken his first ride to the Narcotics department of Fin's former precinct. Then, a defiant fourteen year old brat hanging out with weed growers, and now, a broken sad sack of a young adult struggling to make his life work and failing miserably.
He had hoped to give Elliot and Olivia reprieve from jumping head first into a heavy case since they had just closed one themselves, involving a father molesting his own infant son. But they seem to appreciate the distraction from the unending deskwork and eagerly accept the opportunity to step away from their case-ending duties.
Vargas explains that he's never met McKinney, but he knows someone who practically lives with him, a kid just barely in his senior year of high school who is making a name for himself with the help of the infamous dealer. Vargas also says that McKinney won't partner with anyone who looks like a thief. He wants business people, professionals. He's sick of being ripped off by thugs, and if they don't look sharp, there's no meeting.
Fin knows that Elliot fits the role better than he does. Doesn't matter what he wears, nobody will look at him like a professional. He can dig into the pits of his closet, throw on one of his old suits and he'd still get mistaken for a pimp. It should piss him off, but he's encountered this more times than he can remember and has grown numb to it. Instead, he opts to play the role of dissociated partier who watches from afar. Running interference lest anything goes down unexpectedly. Olivia will go with her partner to make sure his ass is covered by doubling up on manpower to meet with the date-rapist. She insists, even though her role is probably a little extraneous.
"I'll go with Elliot to meet up with Wilson," Olivia says, standing and daring anyone to disagree with her.
Elliot is the only one willing to spar. "Liv–"
She turns to him, shocked that he will even try to question her logic. "We don't know how dangerous McKinney is in person, Elliot. You know he has a violent history—he's flagged assaultive to LEOs, resists and eludes arrest, pretty much a nightmare for anyone unfortunate to encounter him. It'd be safer for me to go with you to make sure nothing happens."
Munch grins at Olivia, not even trying to hide his admiration of her. "Two heads are better than one." The grin grows wider at the scathing raise of Elliot's eyebrows.
It's settled. She'll go in as Elliot's business partner or heads will roll.
Fin knows the two as well as anyone in the unit, but he is aware of why she wants to step in to be at Elliot's side. It goes beyond standard partnership, and they have bent the rules for one another on too many occasions to count. Fin is close to Munch, but not that close. He and his partner try to steer clear of office gossip, but Elliot and Olivia make it too easy for outsiders who wag their tongues over the intrigue. Fin thinks it is funny how often he finds himself defending them from rumors of fraternization when he might just believe it as well.
Fin lets out a playful wolf whistle when the two descend the staircase from the locker rooms to the main floor. Elliot is wearing what looks like his most expensive jacket over one of his 'courtroom' dress shirts and Olivia is actually wearing a skirt.
The lot of them pull Jeremy Vargas out of one of the interrogation rooms who has been sitting on ice for hours after speaking to Lawrence Wilson. He is anxious and worried about being discovered as an informant in cahoots with the police. Afraid of what could happen to him if McKinney ever finds out what he is doing and uses his connections to hire a mercenary to kill him. Fin doesn't want to think that the dealer could have that kind of impact, but he knows Vargas's fear is legitimate; McKinney is on the FBI's Most Wanted list for a reason.
Anything is possible.
"I think I got something," Munch announces, interrupting Fin's deep introspection of the previous day's events. "McKinney has an associate with a familiar last name—get this—another Wilson boy. Lawrence may not have any priors, but his brother does." Fin peers over in interest, frowning at his partner curiously. "Carl James Wilson, a.k.a. CJ Wilson convicted of three counts armed robbery, illegal possession of a firearm, altering a firearm, and possession of a controlled substance all in 1999. It looks like he did seven years in Sing Sing, then was released to his mother, Esther, in 2006."
The wheels begin to turn in Fin's head. "Big brother involved with big dealer for very long? When were they connected?"
Munch's finger traces the words on his screen. "Within the last six months. It looks like he's been following all of the conditions of his parole religiously. He's working a full time job, paid off all of his fines and restitution, and visits his PO once a month."
"Hmm. Doesn't sound like he's in business with anyone on police radar except the obvious. Unless he's finding ways to make a good impression."
"Have you been reading my conspiracy magazines again? That's a pretty steep allegation."
"Where does this guy work? Maybe we can pay him a visit, chat him up about his little brother. If he's got his shit together, it's possible he'll be more willing to work with us."
Munch taps the down arrow key several times until he finds the information he's looking for. "Gentleman's Club and Sports Bar. Located off of Hunts Point Avenue and Halleck Street."
The detectives stand with renewed fervor to find their colleagues. Fin instantly presses his cell phone to his ear after dialing Cragen and informs him of their next move.
Fin, Elliot and Olivia are standing against the back wall of the club, the three of them glaringly out of their element being that the ravers traipsing past them are all about twenty plus years younger. Their informant is busy speaking to Lawrence and the females buzzing around him, seemingly enjoying his role despite his earlier apprehension. The detectives have been lurking in the same spot for the better part of an hour, and Cragen is sounding restless from the headsets in Olivia and Fin's ears. If things don't start happening they're calling it off for the night.
Suddenly Vargas and Lawrence amble over to the three. Fin crosses his arms and nods once at them while the other detectives introduce themselves assertively. Fin lets them wander away, but keeps his eyes on the two shielded by dark sunglasses. Elliot and Olivia enter an area adorned with Christmas lights, potted plants and a sofa and loveseat. They sit next to one another and are handed glasses containing something that looks like white zinfandel. The two look hesitant at first, but want to make a positive impression on them, and finally sip away.
Not much happens except enthusiastic conversation between Elliot and a man obstructed from Fin's view thanks to a conveniently positioned palm tree that sits snugly against the side of the sofa. Jeremy is glancing over at him occasionally from his place next to Olivia, and Fin is almost tempted to throw something at him to get him to stop.
"Wrap it up. This meeting is taking too long. We can continue this tomorrow."
Fin pretends to speak into a blue tooth device and covers his mouth like he is coughing. "Hold up, Captain," he whispers. "We may be onto somethin'." He's surprised that he doesn't already know this, but it appears Olivia's microphone may have malfunctioned. Fin begins to feel an uneasiness snake up into his throat. He doesn't like the way his gut is screaming at him. Something isn't right.
Regardless of Fin's instincts, Elliot and Olivia's body language changes dramatically from guarded affability to energized chattiness. Fin is not even sure if his eyes are playing tricks on him or what, but he thinks that was Olivia pressing her face into her partner's neck. He moves away from his post and advances toward them to get a better view, but someone steps into his line of sight, and suddenly he finds himself on the other end of a fight, too close for comfort. A young man falls into him and the detective shoves him away.
"Get offa me, man!" he growls. But they are laughing and they scatter before he can say anything more. He looks back toward the sitting area where Elliot and Olivia are apparently getting fresh, but it has been inhabited by a new group, sans his colleagues.
Cragen erupts in his ear. "I think I lost Olivia on the other end. Fin, let's get going. Pull them out."
Fin pushes forward until he is right up against the arm of the sofa. Elliot and Olivia are nowhere in sight, and when he searches the crowd, he has no luck. Panic rises when he realizes that all it takes is a moment to pass by and he loses the pair he was supposed to be monitoring, not to mention his weasel of an informant. A more thorough sweeping of the area does not turn up anyone, much to his mortification.
"I think we got a problem, Cap."